Whisper, I'll Listen
by Lascylla
Summary: Various interconnecting one-shots that may or may not make up a whole story. He didn't snarl, didn't pace with all the grace of hungry tiger. His face wasn't broken into demonic hate, filled with fury at his fate. No...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer; Not mine. Don't sue.**

"Nosy bloody woman," Mrs. Lovett muttered as she hurried up the steps to her barber's parlor, skirts clutched in her hands to keep them out of the way of her feet. This day was going badly enough already- she didn't need to be tripping over herself on these treacherous stairs. That would just be the icing on the cake that was this miserable bloody day.

With a bang and cheerful jingle Mrs. Lovett crashed into Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor, her hair in a tizz and her face flushed with worry and exertion.

"Mr. T- what we goin' to do about Mrs. Mooney? This is the second time this _week_ that she's come snoopin' round here. And she can't be the only one gettin' suspicious," She paused in her pacing and ranting, looking properly at the silent barber for the first time since her theatrical entrance into his parlor.

"Mr. T? You listenin' to me?" At his non-response the petite baker marched over to him to stand at his side. Hands propped on her hips she faced him, taking in his expressionless profile. "I know you got your 'ead all twisted up over this whole Judge matter, but you'll never get another crack at 'im if we get arrested for wot we're doin' here."

His brow furrowed, an injured glint pricking his dark eyes and Mrs. Lovett let her hands drop her sides, slumping a little in defeat. She never could maintain her anger with him when he looked all broken like that. "Ah, Mr. T- you'll get your chance at that bastard Turpin-"

"When?" His lips barely moved to let the word pass, as though he didn't really want to speak it at all. His fists clenched at his sides and the hurt disappeared from his face.

"All in good time, my love," Mrs. Lovett murmured helplessly, reaching out a tentative hand to lay it gently against his shoulder blade. When he didn't move away or slap her hand off she had the irrestable urge to move closer and wrap her arms around him. Somehow, though, she restrained herself. After the first couple of weeks of showing her obvious interest in him- brushing up against him, leaning over to give him a good view of her ample cleavage and touching him whenever possible- she had realised that nothing would distract him from his purpose. She didn't want him to dread her visits to his parlor because of her forthrightness. She wanted him to long for her company as much as she did for his. That, she knew however, was never going to happen until his score was settled with the Judge and his daughter was rescued. And even then... No, she didn't want to think about what would happen once his only purpose in life was completed. Couldn't bear the thought that he might disappear again. Or worse, die. Either by his own hand or through sheer despair- it didn't matter. Either way, he wouldn't ever be coming back. She wouldn't be keeping his razors hidden for him, in the desperate hope that he might return. No. She didn't think about this at all. Much.

After a long moment of her hand growing warm against his back, the vengeful barber moved away to stand at his window, staring lifelessly at the pale grey sky outside. Mrs. Lovett sighed softly and shook her head. She knew she wouldn't be getting any help from him on the Mooney front today.

He wasn't like this every day. Some days he paced constantly, brimming with restless energy, dark eyes crackling with hellfire and she would recieve an inordinate amount of bodies in her bakehouse. Others, like this one, he would be quiet and introverted- a dark, beautiful statue, all flowing lines and hard walls. A sea of pain held back by an indomitable will. These days were few and far between and they hurt her more than any other. It was rare for a hapless customer to plunge, neck cracking, skull crushing, blood gushing, into her bakehouse on these days. It seemed Mr. Todd had lost all his bloodlust and rage and simply didn't have the heart for slaughter.

But what was most heart-wrenching about these horrible days was his silence. He didn't snarl, didn't pace with all the grace of hungry tiger. His face wasn't broken into demonic hate, filled with fury at his fate. No... He was quiet. And blank. And so obviously hurting that it made her chest ache and her eyes prick with hot, sympathetic tears. Not that they ever fell. Mrs. Lovett was nothing if not practical and she knew that tears never solved anything. Not that she knew what would in this case.

With a false smile and a gritting of her teeth, the messy-haired baker straightened her spine and left her broken barber alone with his misery.

It would be a long and fruitful night at Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium.

**A/N: **I've fallen absolutely, head over heels in love with this movie. It's so beautiful and dark and magical and stark. -shivers- It's amazing, lol! Reviews are candy- please feed me!


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Lovett marched up the familiar steps to Mr. Todd's parlor, carrying a tray with buttered toast and some spare pieces of fruit. She herself refused to eat her now-famous Meat Pies and she wouldn't give them to Mr. Todd either. A twinge of guilt crushed the breath from her lungs as she remembered Toby just the night before, flopping down after closing and digging into a pie. But there was no way to stop him from eating them- that would just make him wonder why and she couldn't exactly tell him, now could she? She shuddered and shoved away the nagging feeling that this couldn't go on forever. She would hold on to her happiness with all her might and for as long as possible. She had her barber and her 'son' and her successful pie shoppe. What more could she possibly ask for?

_For Mr. T to stop killing people. For him to actually look at me for once, instead of staring at his beloved ghosts. For no more corpses to be dismembered. For me not to have to hide things from Toby. For love. Real love, the kind that I know I've never had but that _does_ exist. I saw it on Benjamin Barker's face every day when he looked at his wife. That's what I want._

Mrs. Lovett sighed heavily as she mounted the top step and made her way towards the door. She was certain - _certain_ - that she would never know such love. Surely, after all the things she had done, no one could ever look at her like that. It was an impossible dream, but oh so hard to let go of- after all, it had sustained her for fifteen miserable years, the first few with her lummox of a husband and then all alone. After all that time dreaming, there was no way to just _stop_. Even when the object of her dreams was right here and doing his best to completely ignore her.

"Morning, Mr. T," She bustled into the dusty old room - she had cleaned it soon after he came back, but the dirt and memories clung - and set the tray down on the bench against the right wall. She turned around to watch the barber, dusting her palms off absently against her dress, though no baking powder clothed them yet. Another habit- like her dreaming habit, and probably just as hard to break. It's awful difficult to stop doing something when it's become so much a part of you that you don't even realise you're doing it.

The barber watched his baker out of the corner of his eye, refusing to turn and give her the satisfaction of knowing she had his attention. Truthfully, she usually did have all of his attention whenever she was here, but letting her know that would be a grave error. It would make her preen and smirk and cling and he was much more at ease when she wasn't hanging all over him. An added advantage to this strategy was that it irritated her so and Lovett-baiting was the barber's only real form of entertainment. At least, the only one he enjoyed anywhere near as much as slitting throats. Not that the two could ever be compared. One was gloriously, soul-splittingly hunger-sating. The other was merely amusing.

Sure enough, within moments the petite baker was huffing and shifting about impatiently, irritation practically making her messy hair stand on end. Finally, at just the perfect moment, Sweeney turned and nodded sharply at her. A moment later and she would have come marching over to harass him about not paying her any attention and that would not have been pleasant- simply because he liked to keep a good ten feet between them at all times if remotely possible. With an elaborate roll of her eyes, Mrs. Lovett huffily bustled from the room, jangling the bell extra loud on her way out as a sign of her displeasure.

Once he knew she was gone, Sweeney allowed the minutest smirk to twitch at the corners of his mouth. Ah, his baker was so very easily annoyed.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mr T? Don't you think you've had enough for one day?" Mrs Lovett entreated, following the barber's frenetic pacing with wide, worried eyes. Four corpses had come crashing down into her bakehouse already today and it was only one in the afternoon! Something appeared to be very wrong with Mr Todd and Nellie wasn't sure how to fix it. His eyes were flashing, and his lips were moving as though he was speaking, but she couldn't hear any words coming out. One of his beloved razors gleamed and grinned in his hand.

"Mr T?" Mrs Lovett stepped tentatively forward and laid her hands on his shoulders. He blinked and started, staring at her as though he had no idea where she had come from.

"What is it?" He muttered, dark eyes narrowing.

"You were… talking to yourself." Nellie refrained from mentioning the obsessive pacing and the way he absently fondled the razor in his hand. She thought that maybe tackling one issue at a time would be easier. And possibly less detrimental to her ongoing health.

"I- what?" Mr Todd stared at Nellie with wide, confused eyes and all the anger disappeared from his face. Evidently he'd had no idea he was muttering to himself as he paced.

He looked so lost and Mrs Lovett lightly squeezed his shoulders, trying to impart all the warmth she could through that small touch. No point in trying to hug him. That would just make him retreat into himself and start up that incessant pacing again.

"Talking, love. Mutterin' away to yourself, you were." Her eyes were kind and her voice gentle; she offered him all the comfort she could this way. All the comfort he would allow her to offer.

"Oh." He frowned and lowered his eyes, watching the air between the floor and his face with a heart-breaking intensity. "What did I say?" The half-choked words escaped before he could stop them and the anguish in his eyes let her know that he wished he could pull them back into himself.

"I don't know, love. I couldn't make it out. You were very quiet." She smiles weakly and gives in to the increasing need to pull him into a hug. Her arms go around his waist, her head rests against his chest and she wishes this wouldn't make him hate her. She doesn't fool herself, though, not anymore. He'll push her away at any second now and glare fiercely in the face of her sympathy.

She is shocked and both a little delighted and very worried when he doesn't push her away. He seems to tire of holding his own head up and lets it drop to her shoulder. He doesn't lift his arms and put them around her. He just rests his forehead against her and breaths quietly, warmly into her neck. A frisson of heat runs up her spine, but Nellie knows not to let herself feel too much. He is broken, he doesn't love her, probably isn't even aware that he's leaning on her. He's just too tired to continue.

The doorbell jangles and stout, portly man walks in, stopping short as he takes in the strange tableau. His small eyes widen for a moment with shock and then narrow scornfully. He snorts loudly, derisively, and marches out, slamming the door on his way. Mrs Lovett squeezes her eyes closed with intense frustration as she imagines the gossip that will no doubt fill her pie shoppe by tomorrow, or even tonight. She quickly pulls herself back to the present and enjoys one last moment of contact, of warmth, before sliding under one of her barber's arms and helping him over to the chair by the window. If there was any other place to put him, she would. She hates to see him in that cursed chair, but she can't risk taking him downstairs like this, not after what that stupid, close-minded fool just saw.

Mr Todd slumps in the chair, like marionette with all its strings cut. Nellie frowns and lifts his face so she can see into his eyes. They are dead, black. There is nothing there now. Hot, angry tears burn in her eyes and she lets his chin fall, gently, back onto his chest.

"You just wait here, Mr T, I'm gonna go an' get you something to drink, yeah?" She sniffles a little and hurriedly swipes her tears away. No sense in worrying poor Toby. He worries about her far too much already.

She rushes down the stairs, grabs a bottle of gin and a relatively clean glass and returns to her nigh-comatose barber. She hands him a half-full glass and watches as he absently raises it to his lips. The moment the drink hits his tongue, her Mr T is back, albeit a little less than he was when he left.

"What 'appened," His voice is rough and his eyes dart toward Nellie with a slightly suspicious edge. She frowns and wishes she could smack him about the face without the fear of being killed outright for her audacity. She hates that he is even a little suspicious that she would do anything to harm him. Has she not already proven herself to him time and time again? Does she not hide his victims in her pies? Spend hours carving and slaving over the corpses he sends her way, until her back aches and her arms tremble with the effort? How could he still doubt her after everything she has done for him?

She remembers the warmth; the solid, heady realness of his face against her neck, his breath hot on her throat, his heart beating in her ear and she relents a little. "You disappeared somewhere for while there, that's what happened."

She doesn't elaborate and he seems not to care for any more details, so she leaves him with the gin and the glass and heads back downstairs to finish her baking. No doubt the batch she had in the oven is burned beyond salvation by now.

_No rest for the wicked, eh? _She thinks to herself as she descends the stairs into her own miniature hell. A bitter chuckle accompanies the thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Mid-morning light streamed through the murky windows of Mrs Lovett's Pie Shoppe. Nellie and Toby had spent a good deal of time scrubbing at those horrid windows, trying to clean the dirt and grease off them, but it seemed that after years of neglect the warped glass had simply accepted its fate and now held on to the filthy coating out of a strange sort of affection. Of course, attributing thought, emotion and motive to glass was rather redundant, but it made Toby feel a little better about his failure to scrub them clean. He did always try very hard not to fail mum (ma'am), but the recalcitrant windows were extremely uncooperative and, therefore, he felt that he could not be held entirely responsible for their less-than immaculate state.

Toby was just applying another layer of elbow grease to the windows when the door jingled open and in stepped Mrs Mooney. Toby winced and called out "We're closed! Come back at two o'clock and we'll be open." He remained by the windows, refusing to turn and face the repulsive woman. She was plump and overbearing and had an embarrassing habit of pinching his cheeks, showering him with sloppy kisses and trying to force-feed him toffees. He was no genius but Toby knew when someone wanted something from him and he was fairly certain he wouldn't like what_ she_ wanted. She was forever manoeuvring herself so that she was alone with him and trying to pry information about his beloved mum out of him. 'What's her secret, dearie?' 'What does she put in those pies o' hers?' 'Have you ever seen anythin' strange going on hereabouts?' and his most hated question; 'Is she carryin' on with that barber upstairs? She is in' she?' He inevitably ended up sneaking around her bulk and scurrying off without a word. Honestly, did she think she could buy his loyalty with toffees and kisses? There weren't nothing in the world that could make him betray his mum. Not that there was anything untoward going on, anyway!

Of course, Mrs Mooney wasn't satisfied just accepting that the shoppe was closed and so she sashayed in, peering about as though hoping to find Mrs Lovett engaged in some horrible act or other. She spied Toby by the windows and squealed in delight - an almost pig-like noise - and clapped her pudgy hands.

"Oh, Toby dear! How lovely to see you again! Here, have a toffee from old auntie Maggie, eh?" She pushed the wrapped treat into Toby's resisting hands and beamed at him with an almost crazed gleam in her watery eyes.

"Uh, thankyou, Mrs Mooney," Toby muttered, stuffing the toffee into his pocket.

"How many times do I 'ave to tell you, lad, it's Auntie Maggie to you! Now, where's Nellie got to? Down in the bakehouse I suppose, making pies for all those customers she's bin' getting' lately!" A sharp, manic edge came into her voice and the large woman hurried towards the stairs that lead down to the bakehouse.

"No- w-wait! I don't think she'd like you going down there!" Toby rushed after 'Auntie Maggie' with a sense of deep apprehension. He wasn't sure why he didn't want the oafish woman going down there, but he really didn't. "She's not down there! She's gone to the market to buy some herbs and spices. For the gravy, y'know?" Toby wrung the dirty wash-cloth from the windows in his hands, eyes pleading.

"Not here, you say? Well… when will she be back, do you think?" Mrs Mooney looked exceptionally suspicious and she kept edging towards the steps, her eyes flicking from Toby' face to the open trapdoors that normally hid the bakehouse entrance from view.

"I-uh… I'm not sure, maybe a coupl'a hours?" He slowly edged around until he blocked the staircase from view, praying the woman wouldn't just push him aside and barge down there. There wouldn't be much he could do if she decided to- she was built like an ox. And a very overweight ox at that.

Mrs Mooney narrowed her eyes and made to step forward with a snappish, "What are you hiding, boy?" But she was cut off as Mr Todd swept into the shop. Toby had never been more relieved to see the barber and let out an audible sigh of relief. Mr Todd wouldn't let the stupid woman get down to mum's bakehouse. No way, no how.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" The barber said, easily taking the woman by the elbow and steering her back towards the front door.

Toby watched, wide-eyed, as the woman blushed and fluttered her eyelashes at Mr Todd in a very blatant and disgusting attempt to flirt with him.

"Oh, I was just looking for Nellie! Wanted to have a little chat, that's all."

Toby followed the pair at a safe distance, taking in the way Mrs Mooney practically swooned when Mr Todd leaned a little closer and murmured "She's out at the moment, but I'll be sure to tell her you dropped by."

Why couldn't the stupid woman see the danger in Mr Todd's eyes? He was a demon, why couldn't she see it? For that matter, why couldn't mum see it! It was as though he cast some sort of spell over any woman he met and she became blind to the darkness in him, inherent in his every movement, his every word. He was soulless, Toby thought as he stared at the pale-white skin and deep, black eyes. A monster, a demon.

Finally the woman was out the door and Mr Todd was turning back towards Toby with an utterly blank look on his face. Toby gulped slightly and backed up a step.

Mr Todd walked slowly, thoughtfully, towards the boy and stopped far too close for Toby's comfort. "That was… A good thing you were doing for your mum there, Toby." The barber nodded and placed a hand lightly on one of Toby's shoulders, though he was too distracted to meet the boy's eyes. Toby tried not to flinch as the hand descended and his eyes widened with surprise at the almost kind words. He bobbed his head a little and watched, bewildered, when Mr Todd let his hand fall away and he headed down the stairs to the bakehouse.

Toby walked slowly back to the windows and continued cleaning, his mind still processing all that had just transpired.


End file.
